


A blue tin kettle

by rillaelilz



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillaelilz/pseuds/rillaelilz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mama found her prince inside a tin kettle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A blue tin kettle

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a tumblr prompt (Dís and [12 - a blue tin kettle](http://rillils.tumblr.com/post/125097233872/30-multipurpose-prompts-open-to-interpretation)) (yes, I have no imagination whatsoever when it comes to titles XD); I tried to make it sound like an old-fashioned fairytale, but... well, I kinda failed. XD

Mama found her prince inside a tin kettle.  
He was fairy-small, the tiniest fellow in this great big world made for tall people, but strong he was, and mighty kind, too.

Every day he tamed fire, and with fire bent iron and hammered steel. A fiery golden beard he had, and dark twinkling eyes to make the intimidating gentle, the stern sweet.

  
It just so happened one day that Mama was at the market, and there she came across a very peculiar stall: a delicious scent rose from it, like a freshly baked blueberry pie, and it was brimming with all sorts of items, and they were so foreign and beautiful, coming in more colours and shapes than she knew existed, she thought for a moment they  _had_  to be from another world.  
  
Now Mama had no use nor money to spare for any of them, but one thing she found that would have come in very handy: a teakettle, one ordinary tin pot that sat in a corner of the stall, dark and stocky amongst all those shiny wonders like a troll sitting for lunch with elves.

She immediately purchased it, for her old one was now broken, and thought nothing of the haste the merchant seemed to have to push the kettle in her hands.

But when she went home and opened it to fix her afternoon tea, she caught a glimpse of a faint light inside and gasped in surprise upon learning that,  _my oh my_ , her new kettle appeared to be somebody else’s home.

“Excuse me,” she started with a frown, not yet sure who was listening, “I believe this is my kettle. What are you doing here?”

It was then that the prince climbed out and, standing on her kitchen table, introduced himself.

“But you see, my lady, this is my forge,” he explained, in a very polite manner. Curious, Mama peered inside, and indeed the kettle’s hollow belly was gleaming with a miniature fire and embers. There she spotted a small hammer and anvil as well, a long row of swords as big as toothpicks hanging from the tin walls, and a little apron left in the farthest corner she could see in that dim light.

Mama was amazed by the prince’s work and skills, and she felt great sympathy for him, and a deep anger for the dwarf who had dared to sell her something that couldn’t belong to either them, letting her risk dousing the prince’s forge - or endangering his life! - in an attempt to make tea.

“But if there is fire in this kettle,” she wondered out loud, “why isn’t it hot? Why didn’t I burn myself when I carried it?”

The prince smiled at her question.

“You must know, my lady,” he said, “that these flames are under a spell, and so am I. Their smoldering heat will only reach outside when it senses a wicked soul handling the kettle-forge. Kind hearts are safe from such peril.”

He then touched her hand with his tiny one, bowing like a true knight would.

“Never fear, my lady Dís, for my fire shall never harm you.”

She nodded, both grateful and flattered by the prince’s words. But she soon began to fret, for, she told him - “I do need a kettle, though. The old one broke some days past, and I haven’t been able to make tea ever since. It was my only comfort in these lonely times, and I miss it dearly.”

The prince understood and, unexpectedly, he bowed once more and rushed to the top of the kettle, jumping in one swift movement as if he had wings, his eyes shining brighter than embers, his grin as wide and excited as a dwarfling holding their new toy.

“Perhaps I can help you, my lady. Leave your old kettle on the table tonight and, with a bit of luck, you’ll find it as good as new when you wake up in the morning.”

Mama thanked him and, happier than she’d been in a long time, agreed to do as he asked.

The following night was a very strange one. For hours while she was abed, she could hear the song of hammer and anvil echo in her mind; she felt the warmth of a crackling fire, she saw soft amber lights flicker in the darkness, like fireflies dancing merrily and casting their unique shadows on the walls.

She thought she was dreaming, but when her drowsy eyes opened at the crack of dawn, the lights were still there and the distant clanging sound still present. At last, willing prey of curiosity, Mama slipped out of her bed and tiptoed all the way to the kitchen.

Not wishing to be seen, she cautiously peeked in the room, and what she saw there made her hold her breath. Her kitchen had been turned into a forge! There were no basin, no cupboard, no table or fireplace where all her belongings used to be - everything, from the chairs to the pots, had been replaced by a blacksmith’s tools and workplace!

Even the heat that radiated from it was slowly reaching and embracing her, seeping into her heart and cold toes.

To make the matter more wondrous still, in the middle of it all stood the prince - and today he was as tall as her, perhaps even  _taller_.

Needless to say, Mama was astounded by such a marvel and couldn’t bring herself to make a sound; despite that, her presence didn’t go unnoticed for much longer. Soon the prince paused and turned around, gifting her with a beaming smile.

“You’re quite early, my lady! Your kettle is not finished yet.”

And so it was that the fire prince went back to his work, and Mama lingered in the doorway to watch, utterly captivated, as he deftly pounded the tin and his hammer glowed golden, his skin alight, his brow pearled with sweat.

As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, the forge began to fade, every bit and metal scrap changing back into her furniture, old blades melding with ladles, coals and tongs making way for dishes and seats, empty spots filling up again with good old wooden shelves and pottery.

By the time her kitchen was back to what it used to be only the night before, crowded with stools and awash with morning light, the prince was holding a perfectly repaired kettle in his hands.

“Just one more thing,” he whispered, one finger held to his lips, and then sat down to polish the kettle’s round tummy with his apron. When it unfolded again, Mama saw her teakettle glinting proudly on the prince’s lap, and it was with a happy little sound that she noticed it had been painted the nicest shade of blue.

“Like your eyes,” the prince told her.

Mama blushed and thanked him with all the words she was able to muster when she was so overwhelmed by wonder, and then offered to pay him for his hard work, but the prince only asked for a cup of tea.

So Mama took the kettle from his hands, poured water in it and let it boil in her cosy hearth, dishing out a quick breakfast as they waited for tea to be done. They enjoyed the soft bread and fried eggs and crispy bacon, and sipped their tea in between soft chuckles and amiable chatting.

When their meal was over, Mama begged the prince to stay. She had been lonely for the longest time, she said, and now that she had found a friend she was reluctant to let him go. Plus, her house was surely big enough for his kettle-forge, and she didn’t mind her kitchen being turned into a smithy if need be.

The prince beamed and happily accepted, for he too had spent more years than he could count alone.

That is how their companionship started, and as they shared their lives with each other, they became inseparable and soon both of them knew that they never, ever wished to part again.

Even when the prince  _did_  have to be away to work his fire magic, Mama had her blue tin kettle to keep him close to her and their home. It was a strange thing, but - were it unused for days or only just taken from the fire - that kettle always stayed pleasantly warm in her hands.

Only once she mused about this with her prince, and when she did, he kissed her sweetly and reminded her,

“ _My fire shall never harm you, my dear._ ”

 

 

“A~nd that took long enough,” Dís giggled to herself, brushing Kíli’s bangs out of his closed eyes and moving to tuck Fíli in just a little bit more snugly.

A swift couple of kisses bestowed on their heads and she was ready to leave the room, but she found her way blocked by her husband - she almost jumped in surprise when he appeared in the doorway.

“So that’s the new story of how we met?”

She snorted and ruffled his beard -  _fiery gold indeed -_ trying her best to stifle her own laughter.

“Hush, you eavesdropper, you’ll wake them up!”

He grinned and reached his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as she ruthlessly made a mess of his neat braids.

“I’m warning you,  _Vee_ ,” she whispered, voice breaking with barely-contained mirth, “if you  _do_ , I’ll leave you to put them back to sleep.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” He fake-gasped, leaving a playful trail of smooches on her neck in retaliation.

She enjoyed his attentions and the faint tickle of his beard for a moment, then quickly shooed him out of the room and, with a final glance at their children, pulled their bedroom’s door almost closed.

When she looked up, Víli’s eyes were gleaming - not just with amusement, but also laced with something warmer, something far more tender that could always take hold of her heart in the sweetest way.

“Come to think of it, I believe I never thanked you properly for fixing that kettle.”

He smiled, letting her take his hand in her smaller, not less mighty one.

“Belated thanks are always welcome, my lady, especially private ones.”


End file.
